Kyros figured, as a ruler, it wouldn't do too well to damage the seat of his new territory. There was also the fact that it would serve as a better reminder of their new master if the gate was easily-visible. To that end, he walked out of the village hall. He stopped and stood on the elevated stonework in front of the door.
Kyros focused his will on summoning a gateway to link the village of Nazal to the tower. He visualized it rupturing forth, the ground exploding outward as the portal appeared.
He managed it without much trouble. The gateway burst from the trampled soil. A trio of spikes punctured the soil and ruptured a small hut on the right side of the village square. Dry timber and cracked clay exploded, slamming into the oft-trod path and nearby buildings. They curled inward, forming a semi-circular framework. Each left a circular area with a diameter of perhaps a metre and a half between the other points. Then the platform emerged, in a much more gradual manner than the spikes which had cleared the way.
It was almost a circle, filling in the space guarded by the stalagmite-like stone. The only problem was that it rose practically half a metre in the air. Wide stairs slid out of the platform, rectifying the issue. Each step went further than the previous, as staircases are supposed to. The edges sported an encrusting of a dull golden colour. Smaller spikes broke out from the ground, curving outward along the side of the stairs as evil stair-guards.
A slight depression formed in the centre of the platform, a pillar of pale blue magic shooting up farther than the eye could see. It was twisting, dancing with itself as the energy travelled upward.
Then Gnarl strode out of the gate, his bulky cloak materializing from the pillar of magic. Kyros assumed that this was Gnarl's greatest speed – equal, roughly, to a human walking with a purpose.
"Very good, Sire!" Gnarl didn't give Kyros a moment to respond. "It would appear that with a village subjugated to your will. The Towerheart has recognized you as the Overlord, granting you your rightful power! Your predecessor had a similar issue; the Netherworld not accepting him as its master. In his case, it required him to learn the Evil Presence spell."
"He only needed to learn a spell while I needed to conquer an entire village?"
Gnarl tried his best to answer that; there was a disparity between the two. "His Imperial Majesty had rather strong magical blood. I suspect that the Towerheart seeks a way to check if its master-to-be is worthy. For him, perhaps, it was proving he could manipulate the power that had been passed down to him. In your case, Sire, I believe that it wanted to see you controlling the minions. It wanted you to see you revelling in the proper past-times of an Overlord. It would consider you to be an outsider, of course; one not aware of the duties befitting such a title."
That was a rather long-winded explanation to tell me that it wanted me to show that I know how to kill shit. "Well, I suppose the explanation is no longer necessary. It's accepted me and that's all that's important."
"Indeed, Master. Now, why don't we see if Grubby can bring up those minion gates for you!"
As if on cue – which, knowing Gnarl – it probably was, four mounds of black stone emerged around the Towergate. They were piles of spikes and rocks of the same material as the tower that formed around a hole in the middle. The one on the farthest left glowed in the same brown as the skin of the minions behind him. The other three sat barren, awaiting the day that Kyros located the other three minion tribes.
A pair of Ruborian villagers walked up behind the party. In their arms sat a totem piece, engraved with indiscernible runes and the symbolic helmet of an Overlord. A viscous red liquid filled the runes and the depressions of the helmet, emitting a savage glow.
"Oh, most merciful Syd, we present unto you this relic as a sign of our acceptance of your rule." The one on the left side of the totem spoke, his voice wavering but maintaining a subservient tone.
"Very well. You have served me faithfully by bringing forth what is rightfully mine. Place it upon the gateway and thou shall receive your choice of the plunder lain about me." Kyros thought it would be a good idea to reward the two peasants. They had given him a health totem of their own initiative. It was all part of a plan to show the villagers that he rewarded those who served willingly.
The duo dropped the totem on the portal, taking care that they didn't crush their lengthy fingers. The one who had spoken fished a glistening silver coffee pot and cups encrusted with a floral pattern that Kyros wasn't particularly fond of out of the pile. The second took off his headwrap and filled it with golden coins. That was fine; there was still plenty and it wasn't like Kyros needed to pay his army. Then, having made their choice, the two men slid out of Kyros' line of sight as fast as they could; hoping that he wouldn't change his mind.
Kyros didn't care about them; what interest should he take in their meagre affairs? He turned to the portal again.
"Gnarl, I want to station a garrison here with minions. Is that feasible?"
Gnarl seemed confused at the prior generosity but didn't voice an opinion. "Quite, Sire. If you call forth a few minions and inform them of your desires, they should gather a force of, oh, say . . . fifty minions and station them here. The garrison shouldn't have any problems. They will follow your command to protect the village and stay independent of your current horde."
"I take it the size of my horde has increased then?"
"Up to ten, Sire." It must have been the Towerheart then. "That health totem should have increased your resilience as well, which is good. Dead masters tend to cause us minions quite the problem."
Kyros snorted. "So I would think."
"Yes, now, shall we return to your tower, Master?" Gnarl swept his bony hand toward the Towergate.
"Indeed we shall." The minions understood a dismissal when they heard one. They took off at rapid speeds to gather up the loot they had left with Joseph and bring it to the current heap. The minion garrison that was rushing forth from the brown gate would take care of its transport.
Kyros stepped through the gate and ended up in the throne room. The minions had finished with the runic carvings along the lip of the basin and the ones inside it. That included the engravings spiralling on the ceiling. They ran in a pattern, connected to the basin via columns of the symbols running down the walls. They had carved the runes in a simple manner. The minions had chiselled away at the stone with whichever tool they had on hand, even so, the sight was most impressive.
A surge of magic shone in each rune as the teleportation occurred. Magical energy radiated from the runes and a swirling wormhole formed in the arched ceiling over the basin. Kyros' form began to emerge from the writhing maelstrom of power. His body descended in a graceful display of power, featuring crackling lightning and flares of magic. Finally, he landed in the basin, bracing himself with bent knees. The liquid magic in the basin seemed to be reluctant to stick to him, despite the immersion of his lower legs in the substance. He stepped out and the runes dimmed, magic stopped flaring out. It was a most magnificent entrance if he was honest with himself.
Artemis seemed to agree, lazing as she was against a pillar running along the walls. "Quite dramatic. Does it do that for anyone who uses the portal?"
That wasn't something Kyros had thought of – it was one of those things that hadn't seemed important. He felt a flash of indignation from the Towerheart; it would never grant mere peasants the same grandeur as its master. For his agents – he assumed it included the girls – the Towerheart had something else in place.
"No," he said. "It doesn't. It'll only do that for me. It feels quite odd actually: landing in that ooze, feeling its power, yet not quite feeling the substance."
"I see; I sort of liked the idea of making an entrance as dramatic as that, would've been an experience, I bet." She's right about that.
"It is, just feel glad you didn't have to spend six days riding through a wasteland. At least when we came here we could talk to one another."
"You had Joseph though; are you telling me that he didn't speak enough? How shocking!" Artemis' tone went flat.
"I didn't know you had sarcasm in you – learn something new every day, I guess." Kyros feigned surprise, she did have a point though. Joseph was more of the "tall, dark and handsome - and quiet" sort.
It wasn't too surprising; he did kidnap the man after all. Still, he thought that they were making progress in their relationship. They didn't have the comfortable sort of silence that you do with a friend. It was more like the uncomfortable sort from when you first rode in your friend's parent's car.
"Where's Klaudia? Is she in the quarters?"
"Hm? Oh, no; she's in her aviary. Come with me!" She began trotting to the stairs to the quarters, Kyros strolling behind her with his hands clasped behind his back.
I don't remember an aviary. What the hell is she keeping anyway? Vultures? There wasn't much in the way of wildlife in the immediate proximity.
The duo continued up the stairs until they were in the area they'd designated for recreation. There was a corridor and they entered the aviary via a heavy door. Then they opened the second door and exited the simple airlock.
Klaudia was sitting on a stone bench with curved legs, reading a leather-bound novel. A plump blackbird was sitting on a wooden stand behind her. There were a few other blackbirds in the room - clumped together on the wooden rafters or hopping about on the hay-covered floor. The room was serene; basins of water – birdbaths – spread strategically throughout it. The soft sound of trickling water filled the silence and the birds occasionally joined together to sing a melody. On the far end from the airlock, there was one of the roofed balconies that were so frequent across the tower. Klaudia had put up a screen of fabric across the pillars, leaving the birds trapped until she opened it.
"Hello. Where did these things come from?"
Klaudia looked up from her book, marking her place with a thin strip of crimson leather. "Hello. They're from Evernight. I met a few merchants in there who were willing to fork them over for a couple of golden coins each. I think that they said they were trying to see if they could deliver them to the lord of Spree as a gift. Didn't seem too fussed about taking cash for them though."
"And you set up a room for these birds? Are you planning on getting any more?"
"Yes; I thought that I ought to take up a hobby and decided on raising some animals. Aren't they cute? I thought so."
Kyros appraised the round blackbird standing behind her shoulder. "I guess so." He nudged Artemis who was standing to his right.
"Reckon we could make some good pie out of that one." He nudged his head towards the bird. Artemis snorted in amusement, trying to keep a similar volume to Kyros' whispered words. Both knew Klaudia would kill them if she heard.
"I figured that you might want to come and take a look at the rug I acquired for our bedroom. It's pretty nice."
Klaudia nodded twice, responding in her quiet tone, "Alright, just give me a minute."
Kyros nodded his understanding and walked out of the room, carefully ensuring that no birds made it into the airlock with him. The thought of what the minions might do if they found what they considered "vermin" in the throne room scared him.
"That is a nice rug. We ought to get a few other ones too; as long as you make sure that they match."
"Yes, because heaven forbid we throw off the balance of the evil overlord's bedroom. Can't have that; no ma'am." Artemis was quick with a retort. She was happy that there was a rug in the first place.
Kyros was looking at the scene from a distance, trying to deduce if the plush woollen rectangle sat centred beneath their wooden bed-frame or not.
"Shift it a bit to the right; towards the window." It wasn't; evidently. The minions holding up the bed stood their course while the duo shifting the rug nudged it bit by bit in the direction their master wanted.
"That's good. Stop there." The minions began to flatten the rug.
Artemis craned her neck around to make sure that it was actually centred. "Looks good to me."
"That's because I have it centred," Kyros replied.
Artemis huffed. Klaudia let out a soft exhale in amusement. The atmosphere was back from the awkwardness that had somehow come about earlier.
Another small village in the Ruborian outskirts fell to him. Then another closer to the desert. One by one, the villages and hamlets of the wastes united under his rule. Minions rushed forth to serve as guards. Tribute flowed in under a regular schedule, sent via the Towergates established within each new conquest. Kyros felt that he needed a new challenge; these were mere small-fry compared to the marvels he had heard Ruboria possessed.
News came via Gnarl – and thus Matthew – that the third-largest city in Ruboria was ripe for his taking. His minions had managed to scrounge enough loot to become a more deadly fighting force than they ever were. Even his own powers had increased exponentially.
Another five joined his horde; setting him at an entourage of fifteen warriors. He had mastered the ability to throw fireballs – a staple in any Overlord's arsenal. That wasn't to mention the ability to summon fissures in the ground. A village had been using it via their shamans to irrigate their crops in the sweltering heat. They had taught it to him, then he had stolen the Spellstone and had it added to the growing ring on the wall of the throne room.
A gate erupted from the cracked soil – propelled by the willpower of the tower's master. The minions burrowed towards the pillar of energy; minion gates appeared alongside it. The siege of Abrar had begun.
Kyros rose from the gate as though summoned from the darkest pit of hell. He tugged his axe from its lodged position in the earth (it had risen independently – and stood in the cracked soil). The fifteen browns leapt from the minion gates with a surge of power from his gauntlet. They sprung forth – spring-loaded with their enthusiasm.
They jeered at the shepherds nearby, shepherds who quickly fell to a wave of fireballs. Kyros felt the gateway replenishing his mana using the Towerheart – he hadn't even taken a step from where he had emerged.
The minions rushed forth with his approval. They were wasting no time in partaking of the much-favoured minion activity of slaughtering sheep. Horrible bleats rang out and the minions jumped atop the beasts. There seemed to be a sick competition to see who could get theirs to run the farthest before it died in agony.
Crossbowmen atop the walls took sight of the approaching horde and opened fire. Steel-tipped bolts peppered down on Kyros' position. The minions were quick to take cover, hiding behind scattered trees or the fresh corpses of sheep. Every one of them managed to avoid death.
Kyros channelled power into his off-hand, magic energy whirling around his arm as it formed into a burning sphere in his palm. Pointing the fireball at the defenders, he released it. He watched as a pair of the crossbowmen were set alight, releasing pained screams and trying their hardest to beat the flames out. Their comrades paid them some mind; enough that they themselves did not get caught by the blaze. Their concern did not extend to attempting to extinguish them though.
The minions advanced, taking advantage of the momentary distraction. Sneaking ever closer to the sandy granite walls. Gnarl had told him that Grubby had been working on a pleasant surprise for this day – and that all he had to do was reach the hill to the right of the gate.
It wasn't a particularly tall hill, but it was enough for an elevated position and a solitary unused watchtower stood stoically atop it. The hill wasn't that far off; a few more minutes of the agonizingly slow pattern of taking cover under the volleys and advancing during the reloads until they would reach the position Gnarl had mentioned. Why the men on the walls and manning the circular towers didn't take turns firing and reloading – making an endless wave of bolts – Kyros did not know.
It was a sudden jolt of activity that took over when they reached the hill. The minions threw aside the bolt-riddled sheep carcasses they had used as shields and ran for the cover of the tower. That cover soon vanished as a stone catapult erupted from the packed earth, shattering the tower. Debris flew in all directions, soaring over their heads. A trio of boulders had accompanied the siege engine. If Kyros had to guess, he would say that the smooth machine before him was the surprise Grubby had been working on. Already his minions were gathering the nearby debris – preparing more ammunition should it be necessary. It took ten of the sturdy browns to man the siege engine; their small forms scurrying up the arms and nestling themselves next to gears and slings.
The five on the ground loaded the boulder and Kyros stepped up to a circular platform designed for the commander. Without any verbal direction, the minions began to rotate the catapult to the right. The firing reticule lined up with a section of the wall to the side of the imposing iron gates. This would serve as an entrance; who knew what trouble awaited them should they try and go in through the primary entrance.
Kyros confirmed once again that the target was what he wanted, peering out from behind his shielded position and gave the command.
"Fire."
The sling crashed forward, sending the masterfully carved boulder soaring through the air. Its soaring trajectory was audible to everyone nearby as it sped towards the target. A deafening smash resonated as the ammunition slammed into the upper half of the wall segment – collapsing it. Another boulder flew to the same location, adjustments made to lower its trajectory. Yet another boom overtook the cries of the defenders and primitive orders of the minions as they loaded another boulder. That part of the wall had completely collapsed, leaving a pile of rubble that represented no issue concerning its traversal.
To make his life easier, he fired a few more boulders at the wall, trying to cut off the group of crossbowmen closest to the new opening. Then, when that was a success, he fired another on straight at the group. A great segment of the wall crashed down and numerous defenders became a thick red paste.
Kyros nodded and his minions began to dismount the catapult. The crew scurried over the mechanisms and hopped down from any ledge they could find, landing deftly. They advanced down the hill and towards the pile of rubble without fear of retaliation. No towers remained standing close enough to pose a threat and they had dealt with the bowmen.
His minions scurried over the toppled stone, flooding into the streets. Kyros himself made a much more dignified ascent over the barrier. Already the minions had begun to take for themselves the finest loot they found, gathering weapons and armour. They stashed small trinkets and baubles for a later return. Larger items sat piled on the street; each minion trusting one another and the townsfolk to not take anything. There was little resistance. The vast majority of the foot-troops had marched to battle against another city; Djumal, the stronghold of a rival sheikh. A most fortunate coincidence for Kyros.
He had no trouble ripping through the streets, cutting down any fleeing civilian who crossed his way. It was difficult to believe that this was so easy, the advance was a complete cakewalk.
Then they reached a proud building, its corners marked with round-peaked spires. Banners in black wool hung from the walls and poles, displaying a stylized white flame. People in fitted black robes lazed around on the roof and in the open top level of the tower, revelling in the calm that resided within their structure.
"Gnarl." Kyros thought, relaying it to Gnarl back at the tower. "Who are they?"
"It would appear, Lord, that this is a chapter of the Order of the Black Flame. They originated in the lands of Gromgard as a bandit clan. They had since merged with a group of Ruborian raiders under the banner of Jewel. She was one of the heroes defeated by your benefactor. From there they built up a powerful empire based on murder, kidnapping, and all kinds of wonderful activities. Good folk in truth, Sire. Be advised though, oh Great One, they are quite skilled at what they do and may pose a threat to your conquest."
"Thank you, Gnarl. Would you suppose I could bring them around to our side?"
"I do suppose that would be possible; given time. Though they may be more interested in stealing from you! Of course, the decision to attack is them entirely up to you, my master."
Kyros nodded, ending the link with Gnarl. Looking at the banner again, he huffed; they were the Order of the Black Flame, yet the banners on the exterior of their chapter displayed a white flame.
The interior was filled with incense scented smoke. The smoke covered every surface, swirling visibly as the light from the sun shone into the barroom. Robed figures lay strewn about the room, laying on pillows and passing around the mouthpieces of their hookahs. There didn't seem to be any great upheaval as he entered the rooms; a few people in alcoves and sitting against the bar turned to look at him, then return to their business. It seemed to be a rather 'live and let live' idea, too bad that wasn't going to last much longer.
Kyros glanced behind him, ensuring his horde had closed the twin doors and were ready. Then the action began. They all charged at once, focused on a single target: the men sitting at the bar. The others were sitting on pillows on the floor, which he figured meant that it would take them a couple of seconds to get up and into a fighting pose.
They were successful against their first two targets. The little demons had blitzed in and cut them down before the attack had registered with the rest of the room. A collective sing-song of steel rang out as the collective inhabitants of the room drew their straight-swords and daggers. If the sun could reach between the smoke, incense and drapes, Kyros had no doubt they would glisten. Each weapon looked care for by a caring professional, which, to be fair, probably meant their owner.
There didn't seem to be much organization in their attack, but to be fair, there wasn't much in his own. There was also the fact that this was, in truth, a barroom brawl, but everyone was a trained killer. They darted to and fro, as agile as gazelles. Their mobility would be an even greater threat if they were in a more open area, allowing them to utilize it to a greater potential.
His minions continued fighting nonetheless. The only care on their mind was that their master wanted the armoured warriors to submit to him. Any wish of their master was theirs to fulfill; that was their purpose, was it not?
Kyros decided to get into the fray himself; not wanting to let his troops suffer the entirety of the attack. They were savage, taking any opportunities they could see, and were holding up well considering the numbers.
Kryos charged shoulder-first into a woman mid-jump, slamming her into the wall with his armoured shoulder. Faintly, he heard a crunch beneath the general ruckus of battle. He turned around quick enough to let a Ruborian (he had unwrapped the cloth around his face) land a forceful blow right on Kyros' stomach. It winded him, Kyros bending over, ever so slightly.
He couldn't let the man continue the offensive though. Kyros tackled his attacker and made sure to dig as much of his metal plating into as many fleshy parts as possible. The Ruborian coughed up saliva, letting it fly upward as he took the impact. Kyros' axe was beside his tackled foe, but it would be much more satisfying to do things by hand.
His very blood seemed to be in agreeance.
He raised the gauntlet, beginning to pummel the man as he kneeled atop his chest. Minions cheered him on as they pursued more targets. He kept going, digging his hands into the cavity he was creating and tearing as much as he could. Kyros felt the chest below him stop moving and immediately got up, preparing to find a new victim.
He flicked blood off the spiked fingers of his gauntlet and the oversized axe rose from the floor. A cluster of combatants had formed in what was as close to the middle of the haphazardly laid-out ground floor as possible. They looked like a fun nut to crack.
A faint gasp in his head tried to alert his blood-lusting brain to the fact that Klaudia had discovered what he had done. In truth, that wasn't hard considering Gnarl watched his activities like a television. He didn't pay it any mind; the task at hand was far more important – and enjoyable – than concerning himself with whatever Klaudia had seen.
Kyros charged himself up as he jogged towards the group, getting ready to release his attack. He held the axe out to the side and began to spin like a top as he reached the perimeter of their battle line. The size of his axe overwhelmed that of the swords employed by his opponents and forced them to duck away or end up bisected. He managed to hit a pair who had their back to him, unaware. The axe had enough magic-enhanced velocity that it cleaved right through the robed body of the first and lodged itself within the midriff of the second.
It came flying out with a flourish of its blood-soaked edge and Kyros decided not to return to his previous state as a whirlwind of death. Instead, he grabbed the nearest combatant by the flailing ends of his scarf and nodded his head at the minion who was attacking him as it changed target. The Imperial he caught ended up slamming into an approaching attacker. Kyros felled both of them with a powerful side-chop, the returning axe blade adorned with chunks of their internal organs.
Then a blood-chilling cry sounded in his head. This time from the minions. He froze; what could make a minion afraid? What could make one release such an emotional noise? Kyros snapped around to where he sensed the minion was and froze. It had been stabbed by a lithe Imperial, the longsword piercing the minion's throat, displaying it in the air as a sick trophy.
A cold, freezing, sense of anger flooded Kyros. He hated, loathed, the man in front of him. No opponent ever before had so much as warranted a second glance besides Joseph. The singular thought of slaughtering the defiler took charge of his reasoning. He had killed a soldier fighting under Kyros. A soldier that had died happily; knowing that it had served its master for its entire life and would hence be venerated in death. It had screamed in pain, but that was a secondary matter to it in comparison to the glory of dying for the Overlord.
A visible aura of hatred emitted from Kyros, warding off any Black Flames who might have thought to attack the man. He took steady, firm steps in advance towards the perpetrator of such an unforgivable crime. His minions stared in awe; amazed at the radiated power. The sound of battle ceased as the foe was cowed through a mere display of fury.
The man turned around, eyes wide in horror as he realized that the leader of his opponents was approaching him personally. He combined with the fact that the building had adopted a haunting silence. With each click of the man's steeled toes hitting the ground, the pride of slaying one of the demons faltered. He understood now; it was unavoidable, he was going to die. He wanted to run, needed to run, but he couldn't. His body refused to obey his brain, instinctively knowing that it would do him no good.
A woman kneeled to the right of Kyros. "Please, mighty Qahir, would you not have mercy on a warrior as great as he? One who has proven himself by defeating one of your servants?"
Kyros looked down at the prostrated woman. "Stand," he said, his voice deep and frigid. She did, hope making itself visible in her eyes. Then he grabbed her by the throat, staring her dead in the eyes. His armoured hand wrapped around her bony neck. He applied pressure, the gauntlet's fingers digging into her neck until he snapped it, dropping the corpse on the floor where he stood. The advance towards his target commenced once more.
The man crumpled onto the ground, shivering in the realization of his impending death. He managed to back up, wriggling backwards, unable to outpace the gigantic man approaching in fury. Onyx eyes gazed upwards in sheer terror as a steel foot slammed into his stomach, pinning him to the floor. He gagged instinctively, folding up around the attacking leg.
Kyros removed his foot, placing it on the other side of his target. His position was far below Kyros' reach, so he had to crouch down to grab the Imperial's collar. Minions burst into action, scurrying to gather the items he had mentally asked them for. A beam of wood ripped from some unknown place landed before him, followed by a pair of stilettos. A pair of minions grabbed the man's arms and lined his hands up with the beam.
They had set it up so the beam was between his head and arms, meaning that the man's palms were up against the thick wood. Another pair grabbed the daggers and lined them up with the veiny back of the Imperial's calloused hands. Stilettos were driven into the hands with the entire strength of a minion. They hadn't reached entirely into the wood so each minion drew out a club and began to hammer. The man screamed in pain.
Now he had his target pinned against a board, immobilized between pain and terror. Kyros turned around to face the gathered bandits, deciding only to let out a few words.
"You serve me. Begone." Like flies about to be squashed, the Order of the Black Flame scattered, coerced into obeying the Overlord. He was a much better master than their previous ones ever were, obviously.
With his minions dragging his prisoner, and the body of the deceased minion fading into a misty lifeforce, Kyros continued his march down the streets of Abrar. A squad of defenders sporting shining breastplates rushed out of an alley, swords already in a position to parry. He swept forth his minions, leaving back only the pair that were dragging his prisoner along by his scraped knees.
His forces were unneeded; members of the Order leapt down from the rooftops, driving their weapons into their unsuspecting targets. All but one rushed off, preparing to hunt more of those who might resist their lord.
"Such fickle loyalties, master! Though I suppose I mustn't complain until they inevitably betray us. Still, use this opportunity to march right into the palace, oh dark one," Gnarl voiced his opinion.
"Your path shall be clear of all troubles, oh, Qahir." The lithe man swept into a flowing bow and jumped away, scurrying after his comrades.
The messenger from the Order had kept his word – not a single defender stood against him as Kyros led his looting horde up to the palace of the local sheikh. Bodies were dragged swiftly into side-roads or down into the tight sewer grates. It was fantastical to see any opposition whisked away; the Order of the Black Flame was terrifyingly efficient.
Gnarl did praise their skill at assassination.
The palace of Abrar and its master: Angepalas Japheth Tripcoffer, also called Angepalas el Rayieun, was in sight. It was a splendid construction – its brickwork lain in a glistening white stone. Glazed and coloured clay ran around windows and doors or over arches in elegant patterns. Bushes and flowers of vibrant purples, snowy whites, and golden yellow sat masterfully trimmed in their planters, running around the perimeter.
Kyros' posse marched beneath the great arch that opened into the entry courtyard. Elite guards, clothed in flowing robes of crimson thrust their spears and were subsequently set alight by a fireball each; Kyros was in no mood to fight. His prisoner had been reduced to quiet sobs as his skinned knees dragged against the smooth stonework of the courtyard's walkways.
His minions sallied out and slammed open a set of gilded doors leading into the main hall of the palace. The sheikh lazed upon his throne, draped over it without a care in the world.
"I am Angepalas ibn Zerstong. I commend you for your valour but am afraid that you must now stop. Of your own will, or of my blade within your gut, it does not matter." Angepalas' sharp features shifted fluidly as he spoke. It was a calm tone; that of a man in complete control of the situation. Kyros scanned his surroundings discreetly; he should have no reason to be that calm.
"I am afraid that thou shall not be leaving this chamber unharmed, brave sheikh." The man was putting up some sort of front, Kyros thought it appropriate to play along.
A dozen more of the crimson-robbed guards stepped out of deep alcoves, artful spears at the ready as they formed a defensive line before their master. Kyros let them form the line; they were going to die anyway, might as well let them be in the position they want.
Their robes seemed to cover all of the polished floor between the men. Every one of them shrugged the garments off and revealed encrusted bronze breastplates, vambraces, and greaves. Beneath that, they wore form-fitting scarlet trousers and shirts.
Even Kyros had to admit that they looked impressive. Perhaps some of the minions would like some nice clothing? He took a glance at the floor between then. It glistened with polish and he could faintly make out the silhouette of his form thanks to the sunlight let in by the stained glass windows. It really was a shame what he was going to do to it.
Kyros' troops moved before him, forming a crude phalanx in case Angepalas tried something. They left a conspicuous gap in the space that ran between the sheikh and the Overlord; hopefully, nobody would think too much of it.
His hands angled towards the floor as intoxicating magic sprinted towards his fingertips. Its smell was like that of fresh soil to Kyros. Angepalas evidently noticed something was up. His eyes widened in distress as he realized that they may not be on even footing anymore. The real balance-breaker in any combat was the ability to use magic.
The floor began to crumble and shake as a fissure appeared, running towards the marble throne which Angepalas sat upon as it grew wider and wider. The beautiful floor gave way to magic and the force of gravity. The elite guards leapt out of the hole's path and Angepalas got out of his seat. All of a sudden the gap in Kyros' defences made sense.
He wasn't a moment too late as he jumped to the right either; the fissure had reached his previous position, swallowing his throne into the darkness.
Kyros' breathing grew heavy as the crack was completed; it was a lot deeper than anything the shamans who taught him had used it for. He could hardly see the bottom; a valley possessing an unimaginable depth.
Minions broke ranks; running and jumping towards the intimidated guardians. They were in two units, separated by the ravine in the room. It wasn't too hard a battle for the lot of them; Kyros shouldn't have to interfere. The minions used each other as boosts and had somehow managed to jump over the spears. It was now an attack on two fronts; and the spearmen had no real chance, to begin with. Their morale was already damaged and their lord was standing in the back of the room.
Surely, they thought, he would forgive them for surrendering to a warrior as great as this.
Many laid down their arms, keeping their hands high in the sign of surrender. Angepalas looked shocked at the actions of his men, expecting them to at least put up a facile of a fight.
Kyros walked towards Angepalas; disappointed. His minions rounded up the guards, stripping them to their loincloths and clothing themselves in whatever they saw fit. He took one look at Angepalas and the man seemed to crack; the reality of his situation weighing in on him.
"I can offer you all my gold – and that of my enemies. My troops are returning now with the booty of the second wealthiest city in Ruboria! If you don't leave now they will slaughter you!" It seemed to Kyros that Angepalas was confused as to what route he wanted to take with begging for his life.
He chuckled silently, grabbing the man and waving his hand for a minion to come to him. When the creature did he gave it the command to bring the sheikh with them and to tell his brethren to bring the other prisoners too.
Kyros stepped out of the palace and began the route back to the Order of the Black Flame. His minions paraded their prisoners as humiliatingly as they could manage, driving them like cattle. They administered beatings whenever they pleased, uncaring of the cries from the prisoners. Among them was the man who had killed the minion - continuing to scrape his knees along the roads. In front of him was Angepalas, stripped naked and forced to crawl down the street on his hands and knees, a minion riding him like a horse.
The party reached the headquarters, turning their back to the speechless crowd that had gathered to watch them march triumphantly down the main street. The warriors inside the bar prostrated themselves as he entered. His minions acted without command; driving the guards and the crawling sheikh to the middle of the incense-filled chamber.
"Quarrel amongst yourselves and take those you wish as slaves. I have no care what you do with the rest." Ending the address, he strode back out of the headquarters; his final prisoner behind him. The door closed and the shouting inside began.
Kyros looked at the man impaled on the beam. He had made sure that it was dull and the tip round; a more advanced technique that Vlad the Impaler was said to use when he wanted to be cruel. The minions had inserted into the man's anus then he had been pushed down as much as he could physically be. They left him there now, impaled in the town square and weeping as he went through unimaginable pain.
He summoned the garrison; one hundred brown minions and Kyros left through the main Towergate, not wanting to stay a minute more in Abrar.